


I'm Gonna Love You With My Hands Tied

by orphan_account



Series: He is Fast And Thorough, As Sharp as a Tack [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Knotting, Light Bondage, M/M, Sexual exploration, very very light d/s elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time he actually got around to having sex, he had his map of interests laid out pretty securely. Then, Derek came along and throw a giant wrench in those plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Gonna Love You With My Hands Tied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [godlaughsatmyplans](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=godlaughsatmyplans).



> Written for [Chiara](http://godlaughsatmyplans.tumblr.com/), who drew [this lovely picture](http://godlaughsatmyplans.tumblr.com/post/30352178325/i-dont-know-ok-dont-kill-me-but-yeah-click-on).

Stiles, from the moment he discovered porn and internet and what a great combination is hand and dick made, had always kept an open mind about sex. He knew what he liked and what he didn't like. He knew by the time he was fourteen that he was easily able to picture himself being into the right guy, with the right personality and the right body—he could get into that just as much as he could with the right girl.

As a burgeoning teenage boy, his exploration of his sexuality continued. He found kinks that turned him on, turned him off, turned him confused (the jury was still out on glory holes). By the time he actually got _around_ to having sex, he had his map of interests laid out pretty securely. Then, Derek came along and throw a giant wrench in those plans.

After the shit with Gerard settled, and as the pack prepared for the incoming Alpha Pack, Stiles figured it was as good a time as any to end the stupid dance—and, sure, maybe going after a tense, new alpha werewolf who had threatened to kill him on numerous occasions wasn't exactly his  _best_ plan... But it worked, so, whatever.

Dating Derek, Stiles found, was remarkably normal. They went on dates, and they got teased by the other remaining pack members: Isaac swore up and down that this made Stiles 'pack mom' and Scott looked faintly green any time he came across Derek and Stiles being couple-y in any way. They made out in Stiles' room when Stiles' dad was out on late shifts, and on Derek's uneven couch when they really wanted open space and alone time.

Stiles put up with Derek's instinct to mark, to claim (by way of intense nuzzling and severe, purple hickeys.) Derek put up with the fact that while pumped on sexual adrenaline, Stiles' already meek brain-to-mouth figure dissipated completely. They were a match made in some kind of highly improbable and seriously obscure heaven—and Stiles  _loved_ it.

The first time they did it had been almost two months after they started dating, and for all the fumbling awkward messiness of it, Stiles was pretty sure it didn't get more perfect than that. From then on, things got even  _more_ normal. Sex, dates, awkward dinners with dads and sassy uncles, more sex, and even a fight here or there about really stupid things that they both got over pretty quick. (Followed by make up sex, of course.)

Stiles has always kept his kinks in mind—things like sucking Derek off under the table, while everyone else gathered for dinner, shower sex, gagging, riding Derek.. You know, the usual things. But, the normalcy comes to a head one night when they're laying wrapped up in each other.

Derek breathes softly against Stiles' ear, smirking when Stiles' twitching from the tickling heat. “Stiles,” Derek says softly, nosing along Stiles' temple in a tender gesture. “I want to ask you something.

Stiles, though he's tired and his eyes are drooping dangerously low, nods with a yawn. “Shoot,” he says, releasing the tension gathering in his neck and shoulders as he all but melts against Derek, into the bed.

Derek picks up the tension, his grip around Stiles' waist becoming just a bit tighter, his breathing picking up speed and his chest rising in matched succession. “I want to try something.”

Suddenly, Stiles doesn't feel like sleeping. “Sexually?”

“No, the next time we go grocery shopping.”

“Those two things aren't necessarily separate.”

Derek growls but Stiles catches the soft fondness.

“Okay, okay, this is serious, I get it.” Sticky and plastered by sweat to Derek, Stiles forces himself to roll over so that they're chest to chest. “C'mon, use your words.” Stiles cups Derek's face and smiles at him. It's dark in the bedroom, but Stiles knows Derek sees the grin anyways.

Derek nuzzles him, mouthing at his skin before speaking. “I want to blindfold you.”

Stiles has watched that before, so he nods, he's comfortable with the idea. “Okay.”

“And..” Derek gulps noisily, his adam's apple bobbing. “tie you up.”

Again, it's not a new concept to Stiles, so he kisses Derek softly. “Okay.” He tells him again.

Derek is still tense, though, and seems to be searching for the words.

“Derek, I can guarantee you two things: one, there's very little I haven't already considered and wouldn't be open to. Two, even if I _haven't_ considered it, I could definitely be persuaded into it.” This restores some confidence in Derek since he kisses Stiles hard on swollen lips and growls pleasantly into the kiss.

“I want you in lingerie.. In stockings and panties.”

Stiles' cock twitches simply from the word— _panties—_ falling from Derek's lips.

)

While Stiles will claim until his dying breath that Derek was an unexpected force of what the fuck in his life, and that Derek had seriously screwed with his plans regarding, well,  _everything_ , that doesn't make it a bad thing. Derek, despite bringing trouble with him wherever he went, also brought Stiles inexplicable joy.

(Scott likes to tease him for such mushy, gushy words, but it's so true it  _aches_ in the best way, so Stiles doesn't care.)

And it's all of that and more, accumulated and mixed together, that has Stiles standing awkwardly beside his bed, shivering and covered in goosebumps and  _excited_ . Derek comes back into the room and runs a hand along Stiles' exposed back.

“Are you sure?”

Stiles doesn't look at Derek, because he's pretty sure he'd ruin the mood with all the sudden and overwhelming sentimentality he's hit with. But he grins.

“I'm going to blindfold you now, okay?”

Stiles nods, and shakes out the nerves best he can. Derek moves slowly, carefully, giving Stiles ample time to duck out should he want to. He wants this though, so he stays still as best he can. He ignores the way his stockings—hemmed in black and a thin gray color that's stark against his skin—are slowly inching down his thighs. He ignores the way the edges of the panties' bows tickle his thighs. He ignores that, on some level, he feels ridiculous in skimpy ladies' underwear and nothing else.

He doesn't ignore how hard it's making him, though.

And neither does Derek who, after the blindfold is tied comfortably tight, reaches down and grips Stiles' growing cock through the fabric. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

Stiles grins. For once he has no words, so he just nods.

“I'm going to lead you to the bed now, okay?” Derek gently takes him by the arms and guides him onto the sheets. Stiles can't see a damn thing, but he knows there's a loop on the head board with restraints hanging from it. He knows that he'll be able to twist and turn and writhe without difficulty, but his hands will stay locked above him at all times. “Still with me Stiles?”

As he sinks to his knees on the sheets, and then to his back, Stiles answers shakily, “y-yeah.”

Derek mumbles something pleased, and locks the cloth restraints around Stiles' wrists, and then around his biceps. It's complex, and Stiles isn't sure where Derek got it, and has no desire to ask.

It's foreign, and makes him a little uneasy, but not in a bad way, exactly. Simply in a strange way, unfamiliar but enticing. Stiles rolls his hips up once, and his thigh brushes Derek's bare hard cock. “Derek, please. Please.”

Derek makes a desperate noise. “Not yet.” But he covers Stiles' body with his own, and opens his mouth against Stiles' skin. It's hot, and wet, greedy and eager as Derek trails bites and devastatingly hickeys across Stiles' freshly unblemished skin. He leaves a possessive mark under the hook of Stiles' jaw. And an even larger one on the ball of Stiles' shoulder. He sucks Stiles' nipples until they're swollen and tender and Stiles' whole body is shifting and rolling for friction, for more.

Derek quells him with a commanding, simple growl.

Derek carries on, and Stiles feels relaxed, happy to give him complete control. He raises his body to each touch of Derek's lips, fingertips, jerking when Derek's cock smears over his skin in brief intervals.

“Stiles,”

“Hmm?” Stiles feels heady and dizzy.

“You look so good like this.” Derek sits up and Stiles keens at the loss of complete body contact. Derek spreads Stiles legs, hands gripping stockinged knees strongly. “Open for me, spread out, all mine.” Stiles gasps for air and pushes his hips forward. “So greedy, aren't you? Hungry for it.”

Stiles nods, almost dislodging the blindfold with his fervor.

Derek chuckles, but it's thin and watered down with his own want. “What do you want, Stiles? Use your words.” He shoots back, and despite the fact Stiles says it near daily, it sounds downright obscene coming from Derek's lips.

“You—anything, just, you.” Stiles answers, honest and pried open.

Derek runs his hands over the stockings, never once straying to bare skin. “I'm going to roll you over.” Derek tells him, and rolls him by the hips, slowly. The restraints disallow Stiles to press his face into the pillows, to rut against the bedding. The restraints hold him up and keep him taught with tension. He pushes back, loving the way one of Derek's hands drop to cup a cheek.

Stiles moans as two of Derek's fingers come to play with the strip of thong that's pressed intimately against Stiles. Derek snaps the string, and it makes a sharp noise as it comes down on Stiles' skin. Stiles wants to beg, and plead, rut and moan for Derek to do  _something_ . But, for once, he feels like silence might bring a savory reward; he keeps his mouth shut except to incoherently voice his love for Derek and Derek's magic fingers.

Finally, after Stiles feels numb and exhausted from nothing but teasing, he hears the click of the cap of lube. He shivers in anticipation, and arches towards the bed to put himself futher on display for Derek. Vaguely he considers what he must look like—flushed red, tied up, mouth slack and legs quivering in exertion, in want.

“Stiles,” Derek's voice beings him farther from the edge and slightly closer to reality. “Stiles, try to look at me.”

Stiles turns and looks over his right shoulder, ignoring the burn in his muscles. He's about to ask what, why,  _when_ , but Derek cuts him off.

“Open your mouth, Stiles.” His rough fingertips press against Stiles' lips. “Show me your teeth.”

The moment Stiles' mouth is open, two of Derek's strong fingers dart eagerly into his mouth to press against Stiles' tongue, his blunt human teeth, his cheeks and going in deep, enough to send earthquakes down Stiles' spine. At the same time—and Stiles only notices it belatedly—two fingers of Derek's over hand, slick and wet with lube, slide home in Stiles'.

“Derek—?” But it's garbled and half assed at best around the fingers in his mouth.

The panties are barely pushed out of the way, straining and pressing patterns into Derek's fingers as he works in and out diligently, slowly, knowing each of Stiles' tells and points. Derek presses up, finding the spot inside Stiles that has him biting on Derek's fingers, digging in welts that heal instantly.

Derek is tersely silent, Stiles imagines his eyebrows are drawn together and lips pursed in tight appreciation. Stiles imagines that Derek is ignoring his own cock despite the fact that, in this moment, Stiles is probably everything he's ever wanted. Stiles, gagging and left vulnerable in every way, simply goes with every motion that Derek gives him. He presses back into the thrust of Derek's fingers and sucks anxiously around Derek's fingers that span in his mouth and taste like salt and cedar and  _Derek_ .

All too soon but far too late, Derek pulls back again. His fingers slide lazy from Stiles' mouth and ass, and he huffs softly. “Ready?”

“I was ready like, yesterday.” Stiles can't resist the urge to snark, to tease, and it's appreciated if the way Derek rakes his nails down Stiles' back is any indication.

Derek hums in content, and it drawls into a growl, blurring into a soft roar as he tugs the black panties down just enough to expose Stiles' hole, just enough to let the tip of Stiles' leaking dick to peak out from the hem. Derek humps against him for a moment, cock slick and sliding over red and hot skin. His hands dig into Stiles' hips as he thrusts without direct intent.

“Derek,” Stiles lets out his own snarl, “ _now_.”

Derek moans and guides his cock into Stiles' fast and hard, rocking Stiles up against the headboard and very narrowly avoiding a split forehead. Stiles can't find time to care, though, because  _“finally,_ god damn, Derek, fuck me, c'mon.”

And Derek doesn't disappoint; he secures a hand around Stiles' neck and lays one across the small of Stiles' back, gaining slick leverage and thrusting harder and slower.

Stiles was numb and electrified when Derek had only been teasing, and now, with Derek inside him, claiming him from the inside out, Stiles feels only anxious satisfaction. He's on edge and desperate to come, but he's put to peace and pieces by the feeling of Derek taking over every part of him. Derek acting as his lover, his alpha, in this instant acting as his eyes and his  _master_ , and Stiles can't help but shake and moan at that.

Derek's hands start to wander, pressing into each pink mark he left before, grabbing at the skin and pinching it between his nails. “Derek, fucker,” Stiles gasps out, dazed and unsure of the feeling. His back is warm as Derek covers him again, and he feels Derek smirk against his skin again. “C'mon, please? Please?” Because as nice as it is, as (un)surprisingly tender and hot, Stiles feels like his skin is stretched too tight across him, he needs to  _come_ .

Derek doesn't say anything, but his hips pick up speed, rocking into Stiles and shoving them forward on the bedsheets, rucking them up, the fabric burning their knees. The sound of skin slapping on skin that, up until this point, had been faint and slow, has turned fast and harsh and lewd, and Stiles wishes he could turn over, look over his shoulder and watch Derek with a sideways glance.

Stiles does turn and look, but his nose runs into Derek's face; before it can become awkward, and silly, though, Derek kisses him, hard and biting at his lips. “Derek, can't, can't take it.” Stiles hips work in tandem with Derek's thrusting. His thighs burn and he feels a little ridiculous: the stockings have slid down his legs, bunched up at the bend of his knees; the panties are barely in place, pressing tight against his balls.

“Come on Stiles,” Derek's voice is in his hear, a low whisper. “Come for me, all over your bed, your nice little panties.”

Stiles hiccups in surprise, and his eyes shut tight behind the blindfold. He does come, his knees attempting to draw together and hips jutting towards the bed once, twice, before his cock is spilling on his thighs, probably onto the panties. Stiles gasps for air, like he's coming up from a dive—he feels starved of air, and his head is fuzzy with lack of oxygen and an overwhelming dose of pleasure.

Derek grunts against him, hips stuttering and thrusts uneven; slowly, his nails grow and dig small, inconsequential welts across his chest, marking him further. Stiles whimpers, the feel of Derek's cock quickly verging on too much, far too much.

“Stiles,” Derek's voice is no longer low and gravely, seductive like the best of the best in porn, instead his voice is breathless and cracking, his hips matching the tremors in his tone. “Can I?” Derek never slows his hips as he nuzzles Stiles' face, licking at his cheek. It's not always like this, Derek being so swept up in desperation, but sometimes it is and Stiles loves it. He nuzzles back, licking into Derek's mouth.

“Go ahead,” he tells him, arching even though the pleasure is becoming a dull ache at the base of his spine.

Derek  _mewls_ , though he'll no doubt deny it later, and leans up for better leverage. He thrusts harder, smaller but forceful and fast. Stiles bends as much as the restraints, digging into his arms and wrists, allow, he moves to try and make it as easy as possible. He feels it, has been feeling it the whole time, the subtle brushing of hotter, bigger skin that keeps brushing against him, trying to get inside.

“Hurry,” he throws over his shoulder, impatience edging down a bad road. Derek mumbles-slashes-whimpers out an apology, and rocks his hips forward hard, punishingly so, and it's in. Stiles shudders, a half hearted moan falling from his lips as Derek moves minimally but frantically, almost entirely on top of him. “Derek, c'mon, _c'mon_ ,” Stiles encourages, wriggling in the restraints. “ _Now_.” He snaps as he bites on his own lower lip, worrying it between his teeth.

Derek's hips come to a pressing stop, and the familiar feeling of being  _filled_ and  _claimed_ spreads through Stiles. He sighs, relaxing, content, and lets the feeling wash over him. Derek's whining, soft and heavy, gets louder and more satisfied. It's a single breath that doesn't stop until he's finished coming, and even then he pants out hushed little reveries against Stiles' skin. Stiles grunts, and Derek's attention turns to him; Stiles can almost feel the shift in Derek: from desperate animal to just Derek, brooding but loveable boyfriend.

“Sorry,” he says, voice raw. Derek can't pull out, not with him still swollen inside Stiles, but he can reach forward and undo the restraints. He catches Stiles before he can faceplant into the bedding, and lays him down easily. “Thank you,” he tells him, peeling off the blindfold.

“You totally owe me. I can't feel my arms.” Stiles says, tired and pleasant, a smile on his face that's pressed into the pillows. Derek laughs softly, and presses those magic fingers into Stiles' arms, soothing the skin rubbed red from the restraints, relaxing the exhausted muscles.

“I do, I do,” Derek answers, kissing and massaging Stiles until they both fall asleep.


End file.
